


the ten stories varric will never share

by bokutoma



Series: the private library of v. tethras [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Isabela is a Good Friend, Minor Isabela/Female Hawke - Freeform, Purple Hawke, Snarky Hawke, Varric Tethras Writes, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, hawke only has a soft spot for bethany, varric is a goodun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:39:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: some stories are too dear to share with the world, even for a master storyteller, even when pushed by a seeker and hand of the divine. these are ten stories too sacred for varric to say aloud, lest the world corrupt the best memories he'll ever have[marian hawke-verse]





	1. the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the best part about telling the official story from hawke's point of view is that he never has to admit the thoughts swirling through his head when he first met her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm a garbage man and i really love varric oops

_As the world's greatest storyteller, I suppose I owe it to the world to leave a few narratives of which I play the central part. I'll admit, it's a little odd, especially for me. Most of my tales would come off like tavern stories, "no shit, there I was" types. You can fill in the blank after that. Up until I met Hawke, there were only three options as to what I was doing: drinking, making money, and fucking._

_Occasionally, I'd slow down and only do one a night._

_Then, once I met Hawke, my job was to record everything that happened. She was a hero of epic proportions, if you catch my double meaning there. I was and would still be content to trail behind her, watching her save Kirkwall one half drunken step after the other. Always a woman after my own heart, that one. I suppose that was the problem, even then, but as they say, hindsight's a bitch._

_Even now, the only stories worth leaving behind are the ones that still center around her. Damned hero pickpocketed half of Hightown, most of Lowtown, and would have taken even Darktown by storm had she not had the morals to prevent that, but I had always prided myself on keeping her sticky fingers away from any of my things._

_Shows how much I know._

_Meeting her, I tell most people, was her being impressed by my dashing heroics. That part is actually true; well, she says she was impressed, at least, and my skill with Bianca is no lie. Everyone is so eager to get into the Champion's mind - and, I suspect, other parts of her - that they never question my reaction, my charm, as it were. I'd like to think that's at least in part due to my own overwhelming air of, as Isabela put it, "being down to fuck"._

_I think it's worth noting, though, that she took my breath away even before Kirkwall beyond Lowtown had heard the name._

* * *

Perhaps following this Ferelden refugee, this Hawke, was a little creepy, but Varric had done stranger things in the name of a business venture. He had seen her ask around for job opportunities, a girl who was apparently her sister (and an apostate...juicy detail, that) trailing behind her like a ghost. He saw her follow the trail to the Hanged Man, a news hub only second to the Blooming Rose, and make a man cough up details about Bartrand's venture by plying him with a flagon of cheap ale and the threat of more to come. He saw Bartrand - idiotic, insufferable Bartrand - turn her away.

The thing was, however, that he had never seen her face.

Hawke was, according to his intel, a rogue like himself, so he had to employ his better knowledge of the area to keep concealed. This, of course, meant that he didn't always have the best vantage points to spy from, and, more often than not, all he could see of her was her back.

It was a very nice back, all things considered.

He hoped to maybe get a glance of it as she and her sister exited Bartrand's undoubtedly unpleasant company, but he had been distracted by a rather persistent pickpocket that he had to menace for a while before he got the picture and went back to his corner to watch for prey.

As it was, all he could see was a glance of tan, smooth skin before her inky hair got in his way. Grunting in distaste, he balanced his weight against Bianca (gently, of course, because he would never hurt her like that) before making the jumps back down from his vantage point. 

He could hear Ferelden-accented voices approaching his corner, and as he prepared to make his introductions in a manner that wouldn't immediately turn them off, he noticed that the ginger thief was no longer in his corner. Quick as a flash, his eyes darted around, trying to figure out where he had gone; by the time he found him, he saw that the boy had simply found himself a mark, and- Ancestors, was that  _Hawke?_

But he didn't have time to process the inventory of rather attractive features he had just seen, because Hawke was so wrapped up in conversation with Bethany that she hadn't noticed the pickpocket approach, only the sudden lightness of her belt after he bumped into her.

"Hey!" she shouted, her pace picking up as her eyes narrowed at the boy. Who was running toward Varric. The man he had earlier tried to fleece.

Shit, if the kid was going to be this much of a dumbass, Varric decided that he was simply asking to be caught. No, it had nothing to do with the small beauty mark that he had cataloged at the top right corner of her lips. This was just Varric Tethras being a damned saint and handing out life lessons like bits to a bartender.

He took aim and let Bianca do her thing.

It was a perfect shot, naturally, pinning the fabric of the boy's shirt to the building behind him. He had let Bianca give her introduction, and now it was time to give one of his own.

"You know," he said conversationally as he approached the boy, as though he hadn't just shot at him with a lethal weapon. "I once knew a guy who could take every coin out of your pocket just by smiling at you. But you?" He made a show of it, eyeing the boy up and down and clucking in disappointment. "You don't have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchants' Guild." He held his hand out, a shrewd grin on his face.  _Idiot,_ he mouthed, watching the boy flush in anger.

He still dropped the pouch into Varric's hand as the elder pulled the arrow out of the wall, effectively releasing him. Smart boy.

"Might wanna find yourself a new line of work," he said, all haughty arrogance. If there was something to be said about him, it was that he knew how to play a part. One punch, catching him right in the jaw, because he had to send a message somehow. "Off you go."

The boy fled. Maybe he had knocked some sense into him after all.

He began to stride over to where the two Hawke siblings stood. Bethany - that was the sister, he remembered - was looking at him with awe, which he appreciated, but Hawke merely looked at him with a cool stare. Ancestors below, if he hadn't already gotten a glimpse of her face, he would have been knocked off his ass by her looks.

He had a part to play, however, and play it he would. He twirled the bolt he had snatched from the boy's shoulder, looking for all the world like a careless ruffian. Which, to be clear, he undoubtedly was. 

Hefting the purse he had recovered in his hand, he tossed it to Hawke, who deftly caught it, pocketing once more. "How do you do?" he asked, and if he hadn't been as observant as he was, he might have missed the minute way she shifted to attention. Unfortunately, her expression was too blank for him to gather what had caused this shift. "Varric Tethras, at your service."

He shifted into a more relaxed pose, hoping to put her - and her rather intimidated sister, come to think of it - "Sorry about Bartrand. He wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw."

"But you would?" And shit, of course she had the velvet voice to go along with her looks. Her rosebud lips were down-turned in suspicion, but he could imagine how delightful-

Whoa there, Tethras. Not the time.

"I would!" he agreed. "What my brother doesn't realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it either - he's far too proud." He shrugged, a universal kind of  _siblings, can't do anything with them_ gesture that had Hawke's eyes flicking momentarily to her sister, the ghost of a smile touching her mouth. "I, however, am quite practical."

And just like that - or perhaps with a few bottles of Antivan brandy and some fair questions - his fate had irrevocably intertwined with Hawke's.

* * *

 _Isabela would laugh if she could ever figure out my hiding place for my more personal stories. The great Varric Tethras, knocked off his ass by some_ very  _shapely curves, red lips, and ice blue eyes? Perish the thought._

_Well, stranger things have happened. All of those stranger things tend to happen when you're around Marian._

_Marian. It's strange to think that once she was just a name to me._

_Hawke._

_She is the most important thing to me._

_Good thing I'll be long dead before you fuckers can torment me about it._


	2. hanged man in the evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one of the first nights of cards and drinking varric ever has with hawke

_The Hanged Man: the setting of many of my more lurid tales. The setting of many of my tales, period, if we're being honest. Marian and I have spent many a night there, mostly with our companions._

_I don't know when I stopped thinking of them as her companions and started thinking of them as mine as well._

_She's kind of funny that way. All of us would do just about anything for her._

_But this story is before all that, before she was the Champion of Kirkwall, before we had to watch the arishok gut her like a fish, before we even set out on the fateful Deep Roads expedition. This was just seven assholes sitting in a bar together, playing a couple hands of Wicked Grace and learning exactly how wicked we could be._

_In Marian's case, that could be very wicked indeed. Just not in front of Bethany._

_I appreciated that about her._

_Seven strangers, brought together by fate, so disparate that we would have all killed each other in normal circumstances._

_Only someone like her could make us work._

* * *

"Corff!" Varric had to roar to be heard over the chaos of the Hanged Man. "A round on my tab, if you will!"

The old bartender looked vaguely confused, but nodded, turning back to the crowd at the bar. He couldn't blame him; rare was the day that Varric Tethras would pay for  _anyone,_ much less six other people.

Across the rickety table, Hawke - who he suspected was going to be his best friend by the end of the year, considering he could plot against Bartrand with her - grinned widely, he elbow brushing against that of her sister's. He noticed that she did that often, as though to check and ensure that she was still there. It was sweet.

Not that he would do the same for Bartrand. He just happened to appreciate siblings who actually cared about each other.

She had somehow managed to befriend the Grey Warden that he had sent her to find, and he was every bit the sullen man Varric expected of someone meant to die young. His name was Anders, which was the funniest fucking thing he had heard all day.

After that, she had stumbled upon some sort of slaver conspiracy, which had led her to an escaped Tevinter slave. He hadn't exactly warmed up to anyone thus far, but, considering that he didn't glare  _quite_ so harshly at Hawke, he figured that the elf had about three days before he was wrapped around the woman's little finger just like everyone else.

Speaking of elves, she had also managed to pick up one of the Dalish, a feat he had already come to classify in his head as  _things only Hawke can do, for some reason._ The poor girl was sweet - weirdly so, considering she was apparently a blood mage - and Varric already knew she was going to get lost at least five times in Kirkwall before the day was up. Currently, she was swirling the ale in her flagon with a strange look on her face, and as much as he'd like to attribute that to culture shock, he figured it could just as well be alcohol poisoning.

Thanks, Corff.

Finally, Hawke managed to entrance the pirate woman who had been hanging around - heh - the Hanged Man as of late, which honestly didn't seem that hard to do. Shit, he had seen her hit on  _Corff,_ which, to be fair, was probably just for free drinks, but she seemed like she wouldn't be entirely opposed to the idea.

He shuddered with delicate horror just to think of it.

He was brought out of his reverie by Isabela -  _that_ was the pirate's name - procuring a deck of cards from who knows where and placing it in front of her. "Wicked Grace, anyone?" she purred, and, well, Varric hadn't gotten where he was by being shitty with money, and he had to admit, it seemed like he was going to win major coin if he played against these louts. Isabela and Hawke were the only ones he thought could give him a challenge. 

Blondie looked nervous in the corner, and he leaned over to the Hawke siblings and whispered something to them. From what he could gather - and common sense, which he did have,  _thank you very much_ \- the mage didn't have any money with which to bet.

Hawke nodded once discreetly at the poor boy, and then ever so casually kicked her feet up onto the table, saying, "Varric, you know we don't have any coin to gamble with. Isabela, can we play for something else?"

The Rivaini licked her lips seductively, which, at this point, he honestly couldn't tell if she was doing purposefully or not. "We could do clothes," she said, and  _yep,_ that was definitely on purpose.

Hawke cast a protective look at Bethany, then replied with, "Stopping at smalls, though. We don't know each other well enough to show each other our tits and bits." At Isabela's eyebrow waggling, she amended her statement. "Well,  _I_ personally need to know you all more before I'm letting you get a look at my tits."

And if he cheated in Bethany's favor and let Hawke know it, well, that was between the two of them, wasn't it?

* * *

 _I may have also cheated_ very  _against Hawke. What can I say? Sacrifices were made._

[The next part is illegible.]

_Hawke was surprised by this, for some reason, even though I continue to do it to this day every time we play strip Wicked Grace._

_Women._


	3. lowtown nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hawke crashes at varric's for a night, tired of gamlen's whining
> 
> takes place just after act I, before they have the amell estate back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft varric is my weakness

_There was a brief moment after the Deep Roads when I thought that would be it. Hawke and I would remain friends in name, but without the expedition, we would drift apart until we no longer knew each other._

_There was no greater joy than to know that I was completely wrong._

_When the others had gone to their homes to rest after emerging from the Deep Roads, she didn't call upon the friends she hadn't seen in weeks. She didn't beg them to come drinking with her. She went home with a promise to me that she would swing by the Hanged Man for some evening drinks before sleeping, but that she just had to change first._

_If you've never had a friend half as dedicated to you as Marian Hawke, then you've never known real friendship._

_It was only natural that I wanted to be there for the woman who had fought to keep me sane and alive after my brother's betrayal, so when I heard that Gamlen was being his usual charming self, I wanted to start to repay the favor._

_Above everything else that followed, she will always be my best friend. I hope I will always be hers._

* * *

The loud thud of the Hanged Man's door being closed abruptly was clear enough over the dull roar of the other patrons that Varric's head whipped around, fingers itching for the steady weight of Bianca. He relaxed, however, on seeing who it was: merely Hawke, looking so unbelievably frustrated that one might have thought she didn't just become fabulously wealthy today. She marched over to Corff, who was already filling up a flagon before she made it to the counter.

Smart man.

"Hawke!" he called, sensing a story in the making. He ambled over to her casually, not even stopping as he picked the pocket of someone who had owed him a couple sovereigns from a game of Wicked Grace for months. "How's my favorite business partner?"

She turned slightly at the sound of her name, but her eyes were still pretty well fixed on the flagon, which Corff had just topped off and was bringing to her now. She slid three bits his way, grabbed the ale, and took a long drink before she even so much as looked at him. "A little miffed," she said with traces of her usual humor, though a dangerously frustrated look still hovered at the corners of her eyes.

Varric decided that he was going to stand a polite distance away if she needed to start hitting things.

"Rough night?" he asked, hands up in surrender before she could take a swing at him.

Instead, she laughed, grabbing the flagon from Corff and draining it in a few gulps before slamming it back on the counter. Corff took it from her and began filling it before he even saw the copper. As much as the bartender grumbled and complained, he apparently did care for his life after all.

"Trying to decide if it's worth taking the possible risk of getting Gamlen's heart torn out if I set Fenris on him," she said airily, like she wasn't talking about removing vital organs from her uncle. 

"I'm hurt that you didn't think of Bianca and I first," he joked, hoping she would read how completely serious he was under her tone.

She sent him an odd sort of half smile, grabbing for the newly filled flagon without looking at it. "Wouldn't want to bother Bianca by making her look at my ass of an uncle."

He thought he heard the message under that, found himself surprised at the warmth that filled him at her regard. "Bianca's dealt with worse," he said, uncharacteristically quiet. "She can handle doing a favor for the dear friend of such a fine man as myself."

"She's a dear."

"That she is," he said, gesturing upstairs. "If the lady would accompany Bianca and I upstairs, we would be more than happy to show you your room for the night."

He enjoyed watching her expression shift from confusion to awe to gratitude. It was the effect she had on everyone else; it was only fair that she receive a taste of that same happiness and care. "Varric, that's not necessary. It's not the first time Gamlen has made me want to take out an eye or two."

He took the now empty mug from her hand, placing it back on the counter, and turned smartly on one heel, expecting her to follow.

She did.

He pulled a chair out for her in his room, taking a seat across from her after grabbing a bottle of strong brewed whiskey. He poured them both a glance and savored the pleased little smile she wore.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows just to get a reaction from her.

"The usual," she said, sticking her tongue out in childish response. "Blah blah blah, useless Ferelden refugee, at least your sister is pretty, just the normal sweet things your family says."

His chest clenched, not understanding how her uncle could say these things to her, perhaps the most useful and, in his opinion and the opinion of at least a few others, prettiest woman he had ever set his eyes on, but he didn't voice those thoughts, fearing them unwelcome or heard as false flattery. "I get it," he said, usual randy smile pasted on. "I usually get the 'blah blah, useless beardless git, obnoxiously handsome, irritatingly glorious.' It's a struggle."

Just as he hoped, she laughed. "I'm not surprised, Varric. How could anyone have anything bad to say about you?"

They talked for hours, Hawke becoming increasingly more drunk as time went on, while he stayed relatively sober, not wanting her to be without a comforting ear.

Also, she was a lightweight in comparison to him.

Eventually, she collapsed onto his bed, giggling at some joke that he had told about a couple of nugs and a popular Denerim whore named the Lay Warden.

"Boots off, Chuckles," he said, pulling one off and letting it flop to the floor. He was suddenly struck by the realization that he had never seen her without shoes on before. It felt strangely intimate, like a secret side of her that she didn't allow others to see. For all her easy care, she was never anything less than what she wanted to appear as.

She shook her other foot, drawing his attention as she giggled, trying to kick off her other boot.

"Careful there," he said, laughing as the boot flipped off and onto the bed, hitting her square in the stomach. "We still need to get your armor off, after all."

Even drunk as she was, her fingers were still deft as she undid the buckles of her leathers, and he hardly needed to aid her as she stripped down to a simple tunic and leggings. Wordlessly, she slid over to the far side of the bed, though a smile still remained on her face.

He snuffed the candle and climbed into bed beside her, wondering if he would ever have the strength to tell her all the things he wanted to say.

* * *

_I did, in fact, gain that courage, via methods both liquid and otherwise._

_I am far from ashamed to say that Marian Hawke is a beautiful, loving soul who could kick my ass any day, any time._

_I love her._


	4. twilight on sundermount

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stolen moments on the side of a mountain. there's an undeniable magnetism between varric and marian, but they'll do their best to ignore it anyway

_I've never been a man who's particularly fond of nature, especially camping. Any tender feelings I might have harbored toward the outdoors vanished after the Deep Roads expedition, so it should mean a lot when you hear of all the times I camped outside with Marian in the Tale of the Champion._ _I think I have back problems because of her._

_She's reading over my shoulder as I write this intro, and she'd like me to add that not all of the back problems she's given me are from sleeping outdoors._

_In case you're wondering, she means that we have great sex. A lot of it._

_"His dick is massive,"  
\- testimony from the Lady Hawke herself_

_Anyway, without further ado, the time we definitely should have fucked on Sundermount but didn't._

* * *

"I'm just saying, Varric, you'd be dead to me if you so much as  _looked_ at one of my kittens the wrong way," Anders said. Varric thought that the mage was going for ominous in tone, but fell decidedly short when he decided to use the word  _kitten,_ of all things. He would have to teach Anders how to differentiate between words based on theme of speech, something that would come decidedly in handy if he decided to actually start writing those manifestos he was threatening to invoke upon the gentle people of Kirkwall.

"First of all, Blondie, they aren't  _your_ cats. Not legally, anyway. They're strays that someone can't afford to feed, and they congregate around you because you're the only one in Darktown who's daft enough to give them good milk."

"That's not true!" Marian's voice floated back to them where she hiked ahead with Merrill. She paused in her hiking, waiting for them to catch up before she continued. By the time Varric could see her expression, she had her hip cocked out and an easy grin on her face. "Anders looks snuggly. I bet they like all the affection that they can get from him."

Varric chanced a glance at Anders's expression and found it raw with a similar sort of fond adoration he had worn when giving Lady Snugglemuffin pats earlier. Not that he could particularly blame the poor man. Anders had been the first to find interest in Marian beyond mere appreciation for her looks, much as he wished he could claim otherwise. Ever since, he had followed her rather more like a puppy than the felines he claimed to love. Even the barest indication of affection or praise from her practically lit up the mage from the inside out.

"Needs a bit more meat on his bones," Varric said noncommittally. 

"You  _would_ say that," Anders said, sniffing in mock disdain, making both Varric and Marian's lips curl into tandem smiles.

"Oh, stop fussing, you're both very manly," Merrill cut in, a delicate smile on her face despite the tension she no doubt felt being so close to her clan. "You're both probably very excellent cuddlers."

"That's not the point!" Anders waved his hands around dramatically, but Varric saw the good humor in his gaze and felt satisfied. Anders in distress would equal Marian in distress, and that was something he had decided to make his life mission to avoid. "He says the cats don't belong to me, but they're clearly  _my_ cats. Who else would Serah Fluffybottom go to for his tummy scratches? Who else would know how to calm Messere Cuddlekins when someone takes a swipe at him?"

"Do you think they like their names?" It was a completely innocent question on Merrill's part, but it sent the others into abrupt laughter.

They only calmed once Hawke lifted a hand to the sky, a puzzled look on her face.

"Something wrong, Chuckles?"

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "It's nothing. Just thought it felt like rain."

Varric groaned, followed shortly by Anders. "I had enough of bad weather in the Wardens!" he complained. "Amaranthine was always rainy."

"Walk up front with me, then," Hawke said, looping around to hook her arm through Anders's, ignorant of the mage's blush. "If it starts to rain, I'll demonstrate my super secret rain avoidance technique."

Varric only barely managed to keep his howl of laughter in check as Anders cast a helpless look back at him, Hawke chattering away as she lead them forward.

"They look cute, don't they?" Merrill asked, settling in at an easy pace beside him. "Like a sort of hero and sidekick duo, the kind you write about in your novels. They're very good, by the way!"

And as Varric kept a smile on his face, bantering with Merrill easily about the kind of book Hawke and Anders would fit into, his stomach turned at the sight ahead of him, and he wasn't quite sure why.

* * *

Of course, it was raining when they had finished their business on Sundermount.

Rather unexpectedly, however, Hawke had thought ahead and left tents at a drop point on the way down. They set them up as efficiently as they could, chilled as they were by the air around them. It turned out that Hawke's idea of avoiding the rain had just been to sprint through it until they reached the cave she had stowed the tents in, and all four of them had gotten utterly soaked.

Now, though, all was quiet, and the rain had died down to a quiet drizzle. Varric left his tent, aiming to stretch a bit and hopefully forego the cramp that was forming in his back, and saw Hawke sitting there, back to the shitty fire they had built, keeping watch. 

"Anything out there?" he asked, padding over to her and sitting on the misshapen stone ledge she was resting on.

She grinned, easy as anything, and reclined back. "Nothing sighted except for a delightfully rugged dwarf, ser," she said, eyes exaggeratedly tracing over him. 

He laughed, but his chest felt warm, and he made a show of admiring her in return. "Are you certain? I also spy a provocatively long-legged woman around."

Her head tipped back in mirth, and she kicked out at him with one of the aforementioned limbs. "You're absolutely ridiculous."

"No more so than you allow."

She quieted at that, somehow introspective, and Varric found himself questioning his words, something he hadn't done in years. The fire crackled, sputtering in desperation as it struggled for something to burn. He stoked it halfheartedly, chancing a glance at Hawke only to find her already staring at him.

Maybe it was the fire, but he could have sworn that she blushed.

"Varric," she started, but then seemed to think better of whatever question was about to trip off her tongue.

He leaned back next to her, shoulders just brushing. "What do I need to educate you on this time, Hawke?" he teased, but beneath it, he was curious, hungry to know what she was thinking.

"Just wondering whether you all have giant orgies at every Merchants meeting," she said, voice so light he might have believed the deflection had he not known her so well. "If not, that's a terribly boring waste of time."

He didn't meet her eyes, instead gazing, as if by instinct, at the tent where a sleeping Anders laid. He pictured the way they had walked together so naturally, Hawke and Anders, the way that they seemed so in sync, so perfect side by side.

"I wouldn't know," he replied, deciding to let her keep this small secret, sensing that it might be better to let sleeping mabari lie. "You've made me miss the last five, so if they added it to the agenda in my absence, I'll be very angry."

She looked, somehow, a combination of relieved and disappointed, and he wondered again what her question was, despite the niggling sensation that he knew. "It's not like you went before."

He shrugged in acquiescence as the sound of footsteps approached from behind them. "You got me there."

Anders passed in front of them, settling in on Hawke's other side. "It's not fair to have a party without me," he said, voice infused with a laughter that only seemed to be present upon waking up to Hawke."

"But now that you're awake, I'm going to bed," Varric said, sensing the air around the two. If he just gave them a push...but he didn't want to. "Good night, you crazy kids."

He climbed back into his tent, falling asleep to the queasiness in his stomach and the sound of their quiet laughter outside.

* * *

_...Not sure I'm going to let Hawke read this one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on tumblr @ghostheirin yeet


End file.
